Anorexic Sam
by Broken Boys
Summary: A series of glimpses into the life of Sam Winchester as he deals with an eating disorder.  Maybe he's always been this way.  Sam knows that he's afraid of stopping, and Dean knows he's afraid of what will happen if Sam doesn't.
1. Chapter 1

**ANOREXIC SAM  
**

_It wasn't always like this._

Dean watches his sleeping brother not knowing what to do but knowing that this has gone way beyond the point of remaining neutral. Because as it was, doing nothing was killing his brother.

Sam's large frame was not made to handle malnourishment.

There were bruises on his brother's body. A mattress shouldn't bruise a person, but that's what happens when there is no real flesh lying between protruding bones and a solid surface.

Sam tripped the other day getting out of the car, and Dean barely caught him before he hit the ground.

That moment is what has him set on edge.

Dean shouldn't have been able to almost close his hand around his brother's bicep. He shouldn't have been able to feel his fingers dipping into the spaces between Sam's ribs. And he shouldn't have been able to pull his much taller brother up with so little effort.

Sam had become a shadow of his former self. He's weak. He's fragile. He's too tall to be as skinny as he is. He's dying. It's a slow, torturous death. But it is what it is.

It wasn't always like this.

The only sound in the quite motel room is the low hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rumble from his brother's empty stomach. Sam could promise him all day that he "wasn't hungry" or that he didn't "feel like eating" or that he would "grab something later," but none of those lies could hide the fact that Sam's body was constantly calling out for something that it was being refused.

Dean hates the burning, hollow sensation of hunger, and he can't understand how Sam lives with it day after day.

Dean doesn't understand, but he knows he has to do something to stop this. It's killing him on the inside to watch his brother fade away right before his eyes. Dean can't help but think that Sam is doing this to punish himself, but Dean just can't figure out what for.

His brother is pulling himself into a deep, dark place, and it wasn't always like this.

**Author's Notes:**

I don't know if I can or should go on. Poor Sam. What do you guys think?


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to everyone for all of your support. Here's a little more. Please let me know what you think. Your comments give me both encouragement and direction.

Part 2

It wasn't always like this.

The only sound in the quite motel room is the low hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rumble from his brother's empty stomach. Sam could promise him all day that he "wasn't hungry" or that he didn't "feel like eating" or that he would "grab something later," but none of those lies could hide the fact that Sam's body was constantly calling out for something that it was being refused.

Dean hates the burning, hollow sensation of hunger, and he can't understand how Sam lives with it day after day.

Dean doesn't understand, but he knows he has to do something to stop this. It's killing him on the inside to watch his brother fade away right before his eyes. Dean can't help but think that Sam is doing this to punish himself, but Dean just can't figure out what for.

His brother is pulling himself into a deep, dark place, and it wasn't always like this.

It was the routine of having done this day in and day out year after year that originally kept him moving. The routine of pretending that he could have a normal life. The routine of pretending that if he just tried hard enough and worked hard enough that he would somehow be granted a life of happiness.

The illusion of the routine was shattered as he watched the love if his life die.

What was left of Jessica's once beautiful body was buried in some cemetery in California, and he was alive and whole riding across the country to some unknown destination with his brother.

He'd tried to wash the smell of her death away from his skin, but it didn't work. He'd tried to loose himself in his brother's loud music and crazy stories, but it didn't work.

It was her death that forced him to drop back into something he'd thought he'd beat.

He was used to having people in his life one day and having them taken away for whatever reason the next, but this was different. Without Jess, he was collapsing under the weight of the guilt he felt. And as days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, he could feel his body beginning to collapse.

Jess was buried in the cold ground, and he was staring at plates of food that meant nothing.

It was the routine of tucking emotions away that originally kept him breathing.

It kept the guilt from pressing down too hard on his chest and squeezing the air out of his lungs.

And then it would hit him that he would never again be able to touch her soft blonde hair or stare into her deep blue eyes and wrap his arms around her waist and say "I love you" ever again.

The dead don't speak. They don't love.

He couldn't save her. He'd failed at protecting her. The loss left him hollow and with no direction. He'd felt completely out of control for the first time in a long time, and if he would've allowed himself to think rationally he'd have recognized that it was this deep loss that forced him to drop back into something he'd thought he'd beat.

This was the one thing that he could control. It was the only thing he had power over. It made him feel something when all he wanted to feel was nothing. It was that something that originally kept him moving.

Plus, Dean was trying his hardest to keep him from falling apart. Dean kept making sure that he got out of bed. Dean kept making sure that he would eat at least a bite or two, even if it felt like it was swelling up in his throat and even if those small amounts ended up doing nothing to fill the hollow pit in his stomach. Dean kept trying to get him to talk about how he was feeling. And Dean kept giving him these half-terrified, half-reluctant looks as days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and Sam's body became thinner and thinner.

Emotions fought within Sam for dominance. Sometimes they ran hot in his veins. He was angry at himself for not being there to save her. He was angry at her for leaving him to suffer her loss. He was angry with a passion he'd never allowed himself to feel for the darkness in the world that took her life. He was angry that he'd seen her death before it happened; yet, there was nothing he actively did to try to prevent her murder.

Sometimes his emotions ran cold. They ran so cold that they left him feeling immobile, and the only thing he could feel was the churning of his gut. It was in those moments that he missed her the most because he remembered what they'd shared. That they'd shared everything. That they'd held nothing back and knew each other, secrets and all. She knew about his problem. She knew that he'd worked hard to get better and closer to healthy.

But she was dead now. Gone forever. The routine was damaged. Sam was damaged. And going back to his old comfort, his old sense of control, his old way of being happened. It was a slippery slope, and this time he had no grip on his rate and speed of falling.

What felt like control to him in the initial weeks after losing Jessica, quickly changed into something deep and dark that he hadn't experienced since anorexia first dug its claws into him.

It had been two months since he'd watched Jessica die and all he wanted was to join her.

He knew he should get out of the bed and take a shower and eat and all the stuff that people do on a daily basis, but he didn't see the point.

"Sam, please. Tell me what I can do to help you?" Dean begged his younger brother.

He'd passed the stage of 'asking' two days ago.

"You have to get out of this bed for more than taking a piss. You have to drink something if you're not going to eat. You're making yourself sick, Sam. I don't know what to do. Please, Sam. Please." Dean begged as tears fell from his eyes as he struggled to pull his almost unresponsive brother up into a seated position.

"Leave me alone," Sam rasped as he was sat up by his brother. The room seemed to spin around him, and he weakly grabbed onto his brother for support.

"I got you some soup at the diner down the street. I'm going to go get it for you, okay?"

"No," Sam said as he weakly tried to push away from his brother. Dark spots started floating in his field of vision and he could feel himself about to black out.

Dean felt the exact moment when Sam went limp is his arms.

"Sammy! Wake up, Sam!" Dean shouted as he gently laid his brother back down and tapped him on the cheek.

Dean knew that his brother's body was fighting against the effects of dehydration and starvation, and Sam was quickly losing the battle. They'd been back together for almost two months, and Sam had gotten progressively worse as the weeks went by. This wasn't the first time he'd seen his brother in this state, but in a way it was worse than before because Sam hadn't been dealing with the loss of a loved one on top of his eating disorder.

Dean had read all of the books. He knew the disorder inside and out. He'd had to learn fast when he was encountered with Sam's illness when he himself was a teenager and Sam was on the cusp of becoming one. Sam had always been a skinny kid, so maybe that's why it got as far and as bad as it did before they really took notice. Dad was always off on some hunt. They would maybe see him one or two days out of the week. Sam was acting different, restricting calories to incredibly small amounts. And the longer that dad was gone and the more time that passed, the worse Sam got.

Dean would forever be haunted by the memory of Sam's young, nearly emaciated body.

Shaking himself out of the unsettling memory, Dean continued to tap his brother on the cheek and calling his name as his panic started to climb more and more as the seconds ticked by.

"Whhaa…D'n?" Sam slurred as he started to slowly come around.

"I'm taking you to the hospital."

tbc…


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks to all of you for reading the previous chapters. I've really enjoyed all of your reviews and seeing the many story update alerts this fic has received. They really do encourage me to continue on with this story. Please feel free to leave any comments or criticisms.

Part 3

_A week later…_

Three days had passed since Sam was released from the hospital.

Three days had passed after being released with a 'there's nothing else we can do if he doesn't want to help himself' and a 'good luck' to guide them on their way.

Three days had passed and the only improvement that Dean could see was that Sam was no longer in immediate danger of passing out from either dehydration or from his blood sugar levels having dropped too low.

Dean had tried to talk to his brother during his time in the hospital; however, his brother had only become more and more withdrawn with each passing day. Sam depression was eating him from the inside out at the same time that his eating disorder was destroying him from the outside in. Sam was a shell of his former self and with each day that passed, Dean could sense another piece of that shell splintering and falling away.

Three days had passed since Sam was released from the hospital, and the only thing that either of them had accomplished was the acceptance of the fact that there was going to be no quick fix to be found.

"Sammy, there's an exit up ahead. What do you say we stop from some lunch?" Dean asked in a slight undertone so as not to frighten his brother who'd been staring blankly at the dashboard of the Impala for about the last 20 to 30 miles.

"Yeah, okay." Sam replied without ever looking up.

"That's great," Dean said with a little more enthusiasm than the moment required. "I don't know about you man, but I could really use some fuel right about now. I saw a sign for one of those all-you-can-eat type places. Is that okay with you?"

"Yeah, okay." Sam replied once again in the same, soft tone.

"Great," Dean replied as he struggled to hold onto his false sense of enthusiasm.

As soon as they stepped into the restaurant, Dean knew that he'd made a bad choice. That place was absolutely packed. All of the booths and areas that offered any privacy were taken. The only seats available in the entire restaurant where in the middle of the restaurant.

Dean was just about to suggest that they go somewhere else when his brother said something that he never expected.

"I'm going to go ahead and fix a plate. Go ahead and grab us a table will you?" Sam said as he looked over at the wide assortment of meats, vegetables, and breads on the two large buffets.

'Um…sure. Yeah." Dean said as he walked off and tried his best to hide his shocked expression. Sam hadn't made the first effort to 'fix' anything for himself since leaving the hospital. Everything that he'd eaten during the last few days had been handed to him by his brother who most often ended up begging him to eat.

Dean grabbed a small table in the area that seemed to be generating the least amount of noise and tried to hide the fact that he was watching his brother as he circled the smaller of the two large buffets.

Dean couldn't help but lose some of his initial enthusiasm as one minute turned into five and Sam still had not put anything in the small salad bowl that he'd picked up and was holding in his hands.

The hardest part of dealing with Sam and his illness was watching day after day as Sam struggled. He watched as Sam struggled to make choices that would have taken the average person seconds to make. He watched as Sam struggled to keep up some semblance of normal. He watched as Sam struggled with the depression that was dragging him down deeper and deeper every day.

Dean tried to let Sam have as much independence as possible and to let him do things on his own, but this was quickly proving to become a situation where Dean knew he would need to step in and help his brother. Left up to his own devices, Sam would probably stand there with an empty bowl in his hands until someone asked or forced him into action.

Not really caring if he lost their table, Dean made his way up to the buffet. He grabbed two plates in one hand and proceeded to fill them with baked chicken, mashed potatoes, macaroni, and green beans.

"Come on. Let's go sit down, okay Sammy? I got something for both of us. I didn't know what you wanted, so I just grabbed what looked good. Is that okay, Sammy?" Dean asked Sam who was still just standing over the salads holding his empty bowl.

"Umm…yeah. Good. That's good." Sam said as if he was coming out of a daze.

"You think you wanna put some salad or fruit in that bowl? If you don't want to, that's cool. I just didn't know if you…" Dean trailed off doing his best to give Sam an opportunity to make a decision.

"Yeah, okay," Sam said as he picked up a small amount of plain romaine using the tongs on the bar.

"Let's go grab our seats before someone plops their butts in them," Dean said as he starting walking back towards the table hoping that Sam was following him. So as Dean sat the two plates down on the table and turned to pull out his seat, he was pleased to see Sam doing the same across from him.

"Oh, crap. Let me go grab some forks and the drinks. What do you want to drink, Sam?" Dean asked even though he already knew the answer.

"Water," Sam said as he sat staring at the bowl in front of him.

"Be right back, man."

"Okay. Yeah," Sam said as he looked up to see his brother walking away.

It was a little past noon and he knew he should be feeling hungry by now, but the truth of the matter was that he just didn't feel like eating.

Based on the sounds his stomach had been making a few hours back, his body needed something, but the truth of the matter was that he just didn't care.

The doctors at the hospital had told him what would start happening to his body if he continued refusing to eat. It didn't matter. Dean was at the point where he was begging him to eat at every meal every day. It didn't matter. If their dad ever decided to answer his damn phone or to return one of the many phone calls he knew his brother had made, John Winchester would be equal parts disappointed and angry with Sam for relapsing. It didn't matter. None of it mattered.

Because what none of them seemed to understand was that Sam was not doing this on purpose. He wasn't trying to make anyone worry. He wasn't trying to get attention. What was happening to him had nothing to do with him trying to look a certain way or to prove any point or to do any of the things people thought he was trying to do.

It was the voice in his head that controlled everything.

It was the voice that said 'you don't need that.' It was the voice that said 'you miss her, and you will never get to see her again.' It was the voice that controlled his body and his will and his mind.

Anorexia was the demon on one shoulder and the angel on the other. It was the dark and the light. It was the bad and the good. It was the total lack of control and the total sense of complete control. It was the friend he never asked for and the companion that never let him down.

It was everything and nothing.

It was life and death.

And as much as it hurt, it felt good.

Dean returned to the table with their forks and drinks and couldn't hold in the sigh as he saw the wetness in his brother's eyes as he quickly tried to turn his face so that Dean could not see his tears.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean asked even though he knew nothing was okay and that nothing would be okay any time soon.

"Yeah, I'm good," Sam said as he picked up one of the forks and started eating the lightest colored pieces of lettuce out of his tiny bowl of salad.

As Dean started to dig into his own meal, he gently slid one of the plates of food towards his brother to encourage him to eat more than the little amount he was consuming.

Dean tried his best not to stare at his brother, but he just couldn't help it. He tried his best not to stare as Sam chewed and chewed and chewed one bite of salad. He tried his best not to stare as Sam took small sips of water every few minutes. He tried his best not to stare and not to scream as he watched Sam give up all pretense of eating, put his fork down, and simply stare at a random spot on the table.

"You going to eat anything else?" Dean asked in a way that he hoped wouldn't agitate his brother.

"No, I'm not."

"Damnit, Sammy. We talked about this. You have to try. You have to."

"No, I don't."

"Wha…What do you mean, Sammy? You have to eat. Please, man. You ate like nothing for breakfast. All you had was a coffee and a bite of toast. Jesus, Sammy. Please!" Dean begged without realizing that he was starting to draw attention from other tables.

"Shut the hell up, Dean. I'm leaving. If you want it, you eat it!" Sam said as he stood up so fast that he got a head rush.

"Damnit!" Dean said as he shot up from his seat and grabbed his brother by the biceps to keep him from falling over. "Please, sit down."

"I'm fine. Ge…get offa me," Sam slurred as black dots danced in front of his eyes. He had no choice but to sit down as he felt his knees give.

"Hey hey, are you okay man?" Dean asked his brother as he helped guide him to a seated position and let go of his arms.

"I'm good. I just sto…ood up a little too fast is all."

"Drink some water, okay." Dean said as he helped guide the glass to his brother's lips.

Dean watched as his brother placed his shaking hands on top of his and took a small sip from the glass before pushing it away.

"Sammy, say something. You're really scaring me. Tell me what you need. Tell me what I can do."

"Can we just get out of here? Can we leave?" Sam asked as he stood much slower this time and used his napkin to cover the plate of uneaten food in front of him.

"Yeah. Okay. Okay." Dean said as he watched Sam slowly walk away from the table and head outside to the car.

As soon as he'd paid their bill, he followed his brother out to the Impala. As Dean approached the car, he could see through the window that Sam was leaning against the door with his head resting on the passenger window.

Logic said that Sam was fine, that he was just closing his eyes for a minute, but something inside of Dean still panicked, and he ran to the passenger side of the car and snatched open the door.

"Jesus, Dean!" Sam shouted as he barely managed to keep himself from falling out of the car. "What's wrong, Dean? You scared the crap out of me!" Sam said as he righted himself and stared incredulously at his brother.

"I'm sorry. I just thought – I mean, it just looked like…" Dean trailed off as he tried to calm him shattered nerves.

"I just looked what? What? WHAT?" Sam shouted at his brother.

"Nothing. Nothing." Dean said as he walked over to the driver's side and got it.

"Well, you could have at least closed my door."

"Whatever. Close the door, Sammy, so we can get rolling. Daylight's burning." Dean said as he put in the first cassette he could reach and stuck it into the player and turned the volume up.

"Dean," Sam said as he tried to make his voice heard over the loud rock music.

"Dean, please. I'm sorry." Sam said at the exact moment that Dean turned the volume all the way down.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you, Dean. I'm sorry you have to put up with…with all this, "Sam said dropping his voice to the point where it was almost a whisper.

"It's okay, Sam. You don't have to apologize to me. I'm sorry I scared you when I opened the door like that. I didn't mean to."

"You were just concerned," Sam said in the same, small whisper of a voice.

"It's okay, Sammy. It's okay," Dean said as he turned the radio back up but nowhere near as loud as it had previously been.

Sam was not okay. Sam was far from okay, but Dean was running out of options and the only thing that he could do other than forcing his brother to eat was to try to allow him to do things at his own pace.

Dean knew that something had to give and that it would have to happen soon. He knew that if things persisted the way they were that Sam would end up right back in the hospital within a week.

Dean hated this. He simply hated it.

As a family, they'd spent all of their lives destroying monsters.

But this monster, Sam's illness, was destroying them.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: The reviews and comments I've received so far on this story have been absolutely amazing. Thank you all._

_Some of this section is based on a suggestion received from one of you to write about Sam and some of the events that may have triggered the start of his issues with anorexia. This section delves into some sensitive subject matter, so please be advised._

**Part 4**

It had been several hours since they'd left the restaurant. Dean still hadn't received a call from his father; however, he'd received a text message containing coordinates not long after leaving the restaurant and exiting onto the highway.

After driving a few hours in the direction of the coordinates he'd been given, he knew he would eventually have to have some type of conversation or at least come to some sort of understanding with Sam if John was going to start sending him to destinations unknown for reasons unknown. So when the sun started to get low in the sky, Dean decided to get off the highway and locate a motel for them to settle down in for the night.

For the first full hour after getting the room, Sam sat at the small table alternating between playing with his telephone and ignoring the elephant in the room; and while Sam sat at the table, Dean found himself resting on one of the beds flipping through channels and also doing his best to ignore the elephant in the room.

Dean was walking on eggshells around Sam. Sam was walking on eggshells around Dean. Dean was afraid to say something that might push his brother over the edge. Sam was afraid to say something that would finally push his brother away.

Sam didn't want anything to eat, but he knew his brother had probably started to feel hungry. He knew that Dean hadn't had a chance to eat much before their argument. And if past experience was any indicator, Sam knew Dean would probably wait until he was on the verge of experiencing a hunger headache if it meant prolonging the inevitable fight that usually came along with trying to get him to eat as well.

Sam realized that his lack of appetite had everything to do with his depression, and how he'd been struggling to keep it together while dealing with Jessica's death.

Even with that being the case, Sam couldn't keep himself from thinking that even if he was feeling depressed and not really caring about his own needs, he still couldn't help but feel guilty for what he'd been putting his brother through, especially in the last month or so.

Since Jessica's death, Dean had taken care of everything. Sometimes Sam had to remind himself that Dean was only older than him by four years. And when he allowed himself to focus on that, he couldn't help but feel guilty because Dean once again had to make sacrifices for him.

It was after Sam left to attend Stanford that he came to realize some of the roots and causes of his damaged relationship with food and his body image. He'd spent so much of his life growing up hating his dad and hating their way of life and hating the fact that Dean seemed okay with things the way they were that he hadn't had a chance to focus inward. He'd spent so much of his life focused on killing demons, monsters, and ghost all while constantly having to fight them to stay alive that it wasn't until he was truly alone for the first time in his life and away from all of that drama that he truly could reflect on what was going on in his head and in his heart.

Sam sat thinking all of this as he sat pretending to read something on his phone.

It was during his first year in college when he started reflecting on all of the times throughout their childhood that Dean went without just so that he wouldn't have to.

As a child, he hadn't been aware that that was what was taking place, but as an adult he began looking back with guilt and regret because he realized that he'd been on the receiving end of unconditional love, care, and support from his brother while Dean often ended up living off of the dark fears of not being able to take care of Sam properly or of not being able to be the perfect little soldier John expected him to be.

Sam realized that Dean did things for him that no child should ever have to do for another child. Especially when said children are so young and vulnerable. Especially then.

Sam sat thinking all of this as he sat pretending to read something on his phone.

When Dean turned ten and Sam was a few months from being six, their father started leaving them alone for extended periods of time. At first, it would only be two or three days, and he would only be gone from Friday nights to late Sunday evenings.

Sam remembers being happy that Dad was home on most school nights. He'd been in kindergarten or first grade at the time and loved telling Dean and his father about all of the things he'd learned in school and about all of the things he already knew because Dean had already 'teached' them to him.

He also remembers from around that time his brother explaining to him their father did 'important work' on the weekends.

He remembers being loved during that time.

He also remembers Dean being really quiet and sad at times, too.

He remembers Dean being the one that made him breakfast, lunch, and dinner whenever their dad was gone. He would like to be able to forget the times his brother would fix dinner for him, but then Dean would just sit across from him with only a glass of water or a glass of milk while he ate. Sometimes he would ask his brother why he wasn't eating with him, and Dean would say that he wasn't hungry or that he'd already eaten. Sometimes Sam would ask his brother the exact same question, and Dean would get really angry and yell at him or tell him to just shut up and eat. Actually, Dean yelling about it really didn't happen that often, and he would always apologize afterwards with this look in his eyes that Sam as a child hadn't understood.

It wasn't until Stanford that Sam could give Dean's outbursts all those years ago a name.

It did something to his heart when he realized that there were times growing up that Dean went hungry so that he didn't have to. Dean had only been a kid, but he'd been forced into situations where he'd had to make adult decisions. Because their dad had either forgotten to leave behind some cash for them or was too broke to buy groceries, Dean sometimes sacrificed his personal well-being for his brother's sake.

Sam sat thinking and remembering all of this as he pretended to read something on his phone.

When Sam looks back, he's pretty sure those instances are ones that triggered his eating disorder later in life.

And there were other things, too.

The year that Dean turned thirteen and Sam turned nine was the year life changed forever. Any sense of stability he'd felt evaporated. It was the year realities were shifted and perceptions were altered. Truths about common lies and lies about common truths were revealed.

At nine, John told him that monsters were real. He explained that he was now old enough to learn how to protect himself from the evil that hid and attacked in the dark. He told him he would start something called 'training' so he'd always be ready and 'fighting fit' if something supernatural were ever to attack him. John finished by telling him he was his 'little man' and that he wanted Sam to do all he could to 'make him proud.'

Sam remembers getting really sick that night.

His little stomach just would not stop turning and cramping. And he tried his best not to, but he couldn't stop himself from crying when the pain got really bad. He couldn't stop himself from thinking that monsters were going to kill them all. And he knew he couldn't voice his fears because Dad wanted him to be brave like a real man.

He remembers crying so hard and feeling so sick that he ended up vomiting up everything that was still in his stomach.

As they tucked him into bed that night, his father told him it was just nerves making him ill and that he'd probably just eaten too much, and Dean promised him that he would feel better when he woke up in the morning.

Sam sat thinking and remembering all of this as he pretended to read something on his phone.

After that night, Sam didn't see or talk to his father for an entire week.

Dean told him the next morning that their father had gone on a hunt and he would be back as soon as he could. Dean made him scrambled eggs in their motel microwave that morning and by nine he was puking his meal back up into the toilet. He hadn't purposefully made himself sick. It just happened. Afterwards, Dean found him a clean shirt to put on since the one he'd been wearing had been splattered with stomach bile and half-digested eggs. Dean had then asked him what was wrong and if he felt like he was coming down with the flu or something.

He remembers shrugging his shoulders and saying that he didn't know.

While at Stanford, Sam realized that at nine he never would have been able to articulate to his brother that the information their father had dropped on him had shaken him emotionally to the point that it was making him physically ill. All he understood at nine was that every time he thought about what his father had explained to him, it felt like his stomach was boiling. All he understood at nine and started to appreciate more by ten and even more by eleven, was that if something stressful was happening, especially if it involved monsters and his dad or Dean possibly dying, his stomach wouldn't bother him as much if it was empty.

There was another thing he'd figured out that caused his issues with food.

When Sam was twelve, his father stepped up their training regime. Instead of only sparring with his brother, Sam sometimes found himself faced against his dad. Dad didn't spar full out with him like he did with Dean at that point, but there were still times when he wasn't fast enough to avoid a fist to the gut or having his legs swiped from under him. And he hated sparring with his father. Not only was his father bigger than his brother, but he also hit harder, too.

Sam was a quick study and it didn't take long for him to come to a few conclusions in his still very young mind. The strenuous training and exercise plan his father wanted him to follow was a whole lot easier to accomplish if he wasn't feeling sluggish or weighed down by a heavy meal. He also realized that getting hit in the stomach by his father's giant fist or even by his brother's or having to run long distances as fast as he could didn't make him feel like vomiting if his stomach was pretty much empty.

Sam sat remembering and thinking about all of this as he pretended to read something on his phone. He sat there remembering how miserable he'd been. And the more he got lost in his own thoughts, the more whatever he'd been staring at on his phone started to get blurry as tears welled up in his eyes.

Just as he felt tears about to fall whether he wanted them to or not, he was abruptly snatched out of his musings as Dean's stomach gave a long, deep growl from across the room.

Sam found himself looking up for the first time since getting the room to see his brother's face, and something happened in that moment that sent an almost instant rush of nervous nausea through his stomach. He ended up dropping his phone and covering his mouth with one hand to stop himself from retching and grabbing onto the table with the other to keep himself balanced.

_It wasn't until Stanford that Sam could give Dean's outbursts all those years ago a name. And it did something to his heart when he realized that there were times growing up that Dean went hungry so that he did not have to. Dean had only been a kid, but he'd been forced into situations where he'd had to make adult decisions. Because their dad had either forgotten to leave behind some cash for them or was too broke to buy groceries, Dean sometimes sacrificed his personal well-being for his brother's sake._

As Sam sat with his hand over his mouth, a sob came out of him instead of the bile and stomach acids he'd been expecting and hot tears burned tracks over the back of his hand.

"Sammy!" Dean said as he jumped from the bed and knelt beside where his brother was sitting.

"Are you going to be sick? Do you need me to help you to the bathroom?" Dean asked as he tried to get Sam to look him in the eyes. Dean knew from experience that Sam's body would sometimes vomit up small amounts of bile if he let his stomach get too empty, and he'd kinda been waiting for it to happen.

"N- no, I'm o-okay," Sam said as he did his best to force himself to stop crying. "I'm okay. I'm just – I just want you to know how sor – so, so sorry I am for putting you through all this crap."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked as he moved to sit on the bed so that he was no longer crowding his brother but still close enough to get to him quick if need be.

Sam looked down to his phone where it sat on the table and the time read 7:50 p.m. When Sam looked back up and into his brother's eyes, all he saw was Dean at ten-years-old going hungry just so he wouldn't have to. It was in that moment that he could neither stop the words that left his mouth nor the tears that started to fall from his eyes.

"Dean, I don't think - I've never told you how much I appreciate all the things, I mean, everything you did and gave for me when we were young. When we were just kids. I mean, you did it all. And you – you shouldn't have had to, man. I mean, you don't know this, but I remember. I remember you even giving me your food. And you went – you went hungry, and I didn't know better. And I'm so, so sorry. And with – with Jess, I just don't – god, it just hurts so much that- " was all Sam got out before he found himself crushed in his brother's strong embrace.

"Sammy, I'm so sorry, man. I'm so sorry," Dean said as he felt tears run down his own face. All he could do was hold Sam and let him cry against his shoulder. And as he slowly rubbed up and down his brother's back to comfort him, he had to struggle with himself not to react to the movement and feel of sharp bones underneath his brother's shirt.

There was so much Dean wanted to say to Sam.

He wanted to tell him that the depression was so intense because he was starving himself, and that the more he starved himself the stronger and deeper the depression would get. He wanted to tell him how much he loved him and how sorry he was that he was suffering so deeply. He wanted to say all that and so much more, but he knew that in the end there would never be anything he could say to take away the feelings of guilt his brother carried for things that were not his fault. Sam had always been that way. It was one of the things he'd tried to help his brother overcome when he got really sick for the first time at twelve and had to stay in the hospital for almost three weeks; one week for his physical health and two to address his mental and emotional state.

Dean held onto and continued to hug his grieving brother until both of their tears had stopped and his own hunger started to make him feel a little light-headed.

Dean grabbed some tissues from the box on the nearest nightstand and handed them to his brother. Dean knew he couldn't avoid the subject of grabbing something to eat any longer. All he could do was hope that he wasn't about to upset Sammy more.

"I'm kinda hungry, man. I think I'm going to the diner up the street and grab something. Do you wanna come with? If not, I can just bring you something back." Dean said as he walked over to the dresser to grab his wallet in order to both avoid his brother's eyes and to not seem like he was putting direct pressure on his brother.

"Um, can you just bring me something back? Whatever you bring back is fine, just – just nothing too heavy, okay?" Sam said as he forced himself to do this one thing that he knew would make his brother happy.

"Yeah, man. Sure. I'll be back in a little while. I have my cell if you need something before I get back," Dean said as he opened the door.

"Yes, mom," Sam called back just as he caught his brother giving him the one finger salute as the door closed behind him.

As soon as the sound of the Impala heading out of the parking lot faded, Sam could feel the warmth that always came with his brother's presence start to fade. The suddenness of it left him feeling cold and shaky. He knew he would have to eat at least some of whatever his brother brought back, and the anxiety surrounding something that should be so simple was making him feel sick.

He carefully stood up from the table and made his way to the bathroom. He purposefully avoided looking at his reflection in the mirror as he splashed a few handfuls of icy cold water on his face. However, he quickly realized that may have not been the best idea when his teeth almost instantly began to chatter and his body started to shake.

Sam reached over to grab a towel and froze when he saw himself in the mirror.

Intellectually, he knew there were times when his illness distorted what he actually looked like when he looked at his reflection. His 'anorexic mind' would see a pudgy body while his hands could feel every rib, the tip of his sternum sticking out, and a slightly concave stomach. His eyes would see a chubby face while his hands would feel prominent cheekbones and slightly hollowed cheeks. In his mind, he felt big and heavy and that's what the illness allowed him to see more often than not.

He'd grown accustomed to seeing himself in a certain way, and he'd come to accept that. However, the thing he saw staring back at himself at that moment was a total stranger. The person he saw appeared to be both fragile and sick.

The eyes were too big and the circles around them were too deep and too dark. The line of the chin and the line of the jaw were both too sharp and the cheeks were desperately hollow. The face was too long and too narrow, and the water that dripped from his hair and pale face made him look more like one of the creatures his family hunted and less like a human being. Sam knew there were times when his illness distorted what he actually looked like, and unfortunately, this was not one of them.

Before Sam realized what he was doing or before considering the consequences of his actions, he punched the image in the mirror with all the power he possessed. And then he punched it again. And again. And again. And again until his hand and wrist felt numb and blood was all he could see and its warmth dripping off of his hand was all he could feel.

Once the rage died down, Sam felt completely hollowed out emotionally to the point that all he could do was sit on the closed toilet seat, wrap a towel around his hand to try to slow the bleeding, and wait for his brother to get back.

Sam waited and waited.

After a few minutes, the strong smell of his own blood started making him nauseous and a cold sweat broke out all over his body. He found himself leaning forward while resting his elbows on his thighs and allowing his head to hang down between them in order to keep himself from falling over. Sam waited, and he waited. And as his vision started to blur and darken around the edges, he continued to wait. As fatigue and blood loss and the effects of hunger all threatened to pull him under, he fought to keep his eye open.

Sam knows that Dean will show up soon. He knows his brother will handle the situation and make sure everything is taken care of. And even though he knows these things, he can't help but feel guilty because Dean is going to be once again left with carrying the burden of his little brother's issues.

Sam doesn't want this life.

Sam doesn't want these issues.

He would love to be able to look at food like a normal person and not feel guilty every time he puts it into his mouth; feeling it slide down his throat, and settling like a heavy rock in the pit of his stomach.

_"I don't want to be like this, Dean. I never wanted this. Sometimes I just think it would be easier if I died – if I were dead. Then no one would have to care."_

And as the darkness began to close in around Sam Winchester, the dark and tender voice of anorexia continued to whisper sweet, deadly nothings into his ear.

And it was the last voice he heard as the darkness finally pulled him under.

**Thanks for reading this section. Reviews and comments are appreciated.**


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